


Always and Forever

by AShortWalkToDelinquency



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Image, Body Worship, Gil is amazing, Husbands, M/M, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Mirror Sex, Post Mpreg, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Acceptance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29765475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AShortWalkToDelinquency/pseuds/AShortWalkToDelinquency
Summary: Because the root of the problem, in a nutshell, is that Malcolm doesn't feel like his body is his own anymore. He doesn't recognize himself when he looks in the mirror, and more than that, he doesn'tlikewhat he sees.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Always and Forever

The appointment with Gabrielle goes surprisingly well. Better than he'd expected, really. 

He's been struggling lately. He loves their daughter, loves being a father, but he hasn't felt like _himself_ since he gave birth nearly four months ago. So he upped his appointments with Gabrielle to twice a week, fearing that he could easily spiral into a dark place that he may not be able to claw his way back from, but today's was the first session where he really felt like he was making progress. 

When the cab drops him off in front of the townhouse he and Gil moved to when they discovered he was pregnant, Malcolm actually has a bit of pep in his step. 

At least, he did. 

Until a teenager zips by on a skateboard, nearly knocking Malcolm off the sidewalk as he passes, shouting a careless, "Watch it, chubs!"

And just like that, all of Malcolm's progress disintegrates into thin air.

Because the root of the problem, in a nutshell, is that Malcolm doesn't feel like his body is his own anymore. He doesn't recognize himself when he looks in the mirror, and more than that, he doesn't _like_ what he sees.

His looks have never been overly important to him — he knows, of course, that he's always been considered attractive by most people, it just never really mattered to him — but the fact that his reflection now makes him physically ill is something else entirely. 

He loves his daughter, but he hates what having her did to his body.

And the guilt gnaws at him for feeling that way at all, chewing through his stomach and making a home in his chest. He knows how blessed he is for everything in his life. Knows that a flabby belly, some loose skin, and stretch marks shouldn't even matter considering everything he gained in return. 

But he can't change just how much he hates himself right now.

There's a hot tingle prickling at the back of his eyes as he walks the four steps up to their front porch, and by the time he's fitting his key in the front door, one or two errant tears have already escaped.

He closes the door behind himself and leans back against it, happy to shut out the world but desperately wishing he could shut himself out there, too.

It's maybe two minutes before he hears the quiet thud of footsteps coming down the stairs. He hurries to wipe away the tears, to slap on a smile that will be moderately convincing, and is toeing off his shoes as Gil walks into the entranceway.

"Hey, kid," Gil says softly, padding over in socked feet to wrap a warm hand around the back of Malcolm's neck, his thumb idly stroking along his hairline. "How was your session?"

"Fine. Great," Malcolm says quickly. Maybe a little _too_ quickly if the way Gil's eyebrows pull down, the way his mouth thins into a straight line, is any indication. He debates for a second or two, considering whether or not to continue the charade, but quickly decides he's too damn exhausted to keep up the front. "It was good, honestly. But then some kid said something, and…" the words trail into nothingness and he casts his eyes to the floor before he says, "Nevermind. It's stupid."

"It's not stupid, Bright. Whatever it is, it's obviously bothering you. Talk to me." The words are gentle, sincere. But there's a pleading look in Gil's eyes that makes Malcolm realize just how much he's been pushing his husband away lately, and his heart aches at the thought that he's been hurting Gil.

Malcolm huffs out a breath and, for the first time in far too long, allows himself to lean into Gil's touch.

It's not as if he's been avoiding him. They've even had sex a couple of times in the last few weeks (with the blinds drawn and the lights off and Gil's hands nowhere even _near_ Malcolm's body). But these casual touches have been happening less and less as Malcolm withdraws into himself, unable to stomach the idea of Gil's hands on him.

Being held like this is so uncommon at this point that Gil sucks in a sharp breath at the hesitant embrace before he wraps his arms around Malcolm in a hug so gentle it's like he's made of glass. And Gil holds him like that, in the front entry of their house, not saying a word until Malcolm is ready to move. Ready to talk.

"I don't feel like me anymore," Malcolm confesses. He hasn't talked about it with Gil at all, though he suspects Gil has picked up on his discomfort with his own body. 

"How do you mean?" Gil asks quietly. It doesn't take a profiler to know that Gil is afraid of spooking him. Afraid that Malcolm will pull away again. The way his hand moves, though, slow and gentle along Malcolm's spine, feels so much like it did _before_ that Malcolm thinks he might just cry.

He's well aware that his hormones are wreaking havoc on his system, but he still hates that he feels this way. Hates that he's making Gil feel this way.

"My body. I hate it." 

Saying it out loud, finally admitting it to Gil, is cathartic, makes it just a little easier to breathe. 

"Sweetheart," Gil says, pulling back halfway, sliding his hands to Malcolm's shoulders and ducking down to look him in the eye. "Why?"

There isn't an ounce of deceit on Gil's face. While Malcolm typically tries not to profile his husband based on microexpressions and body language, he can't always just turn that part of his brain off. And right now, he can tell that Gil is one hundred percent bewildered as to why Malcolm hates his current body, because Gil has always, _always_ , loved Malcolm's body, at every shape and size he's been.

Malcolm bites down on his lip and looks away. It all seems so silly right now. None of it should matter in the first place, and they have more important things to do than stand here and discuss his insecurities.

"I, uh. I should go feed Grace," Malcolm says, but Gil makes no move to let him go.

"She's sleeping. We've got time," Gil says easily. He slides his hands from Malcolm's shoulders up to cup his face, cradling his jaw oh-so-carefully before leaning in to plant a warm kiss on Malcolm's lips. 

Malcolm can't help the soft smile that graces his features as Gil pulls back. Gil's kisses have a tendency to make everything just a little bit better.

"Sweetheart, can we try something?" Gil runs a thumb along Malcolm's bottom lip, the touch zinging through his nerves and down his spine, a tiny shiver that quakes through his body. Malcolm has a sneaking suspicion he knows what Gil wants to try, and, while he'd love to get some quality alone time with him while their daughter is napping, he suspects Gil isn't going to stand for a dark room, hands-free, this time. His hesitance must be clear to read, because Gil quietly asks, "Do you trust me?"

There isn't a single cell in Malcolm's body that doesn't trust Gil implicitly. "Of course."

"Then let me show you something."

Gil's hand glides from Malcolm's face to take hold of his hand, his fingers feeling wonderfully warm against the coolness of Malcolm's skin. He doesn't move, however, until Malcolm sighs and gives a hesitant nod. Only then does he tug Malcolm gently, leading him towards the stairs and up to their bedroom. It shouldn't surprise Malcolm that Gil makes a quick pit stop by Grace's room to let Malcolm check in on their little girl after being away for nearly two hours (which is the longest he's been parted from his daughter since he gave birth), but it's an unmistakable reminder of just why he fell in love with him in the first place.

Grace is sound asleep when he opens the door, settled in the middle of her crib with her tiny fist pressed up against her cheek.

And God, she's beautiful. It strikes him every time he looks at her just how perfect she is. She became his entire world when the doctor placed her on his chest, mewling and messy and everything that he never dared to dream. From that very first moment, the sheer magnitude of the love he felt for her was so intense, so overwhelming, that it was almost painful.

And every day since then, he's loved her just a little more.

His feet move without conscious thought, taking him next to her crib just to watch her sleep, to hear her breathe. He's aware of Gil's presence as he quietly follows Malcolm into the room, aware of his tentative movements as Gil slides up behind him and slowly, _so, so slowly_ , wraps his arms around Malcolm's waist.

The position isn't uncommon for them, or, at least, it didn't used to be. Malcolm used to slot against Gil's body like he belonged there, their forms melding into one another seamlessly. Even through the pregnancy, Gil would constantly end up pressed against Malcolm's back, his hands splayed over the swell of Malcolm's belly, letting their daughter kick at the warmth he emitted. But Malcolm has flinched away from that touch since Grace was born.

Right now, his gut reaction is telling him to pull away. To make sure Gil doesn't feel just how different his body is from what it used to be. But his heart is telling him something else entirely, and for once, Malcolm chooses to listen to his heart.

He can feel Gil's smile against his cheek as Gil leans in and kisses him while he folds him up in a light embrace. And being like this again, being in Gil's arms again, makes his heart feel incredibly light.

"She's perfect," Gil says simply, his voice pitched low and little above a whisper. Grace doesn't even stir. "You know that's because of you, right?"

Malcolm shifts in Gil's arms, just enough that he can turn his head to look at him without losing the warmth of his embrace. 

"You kept her safe, sweetheart. For nine months, you provided her with a sanctuary to grow and develop and become the precious little human she is. _You_ did that. And I'll never be able to tell you how grateful I am." Gil leans in and slides his lips over Malcolm's, saving him from coming up with something to say.

Because what is there to say to that?

Malcolm turns fully in Gil's arms and wraps his arms around his husband's neck, pulling him even deeper into the kiss. It's not long before Gil's tongue is swiping along the seam of his lips and then pushing into his mouth, their tongues sliding together in a way that has never felt more perfect. Malcolm reluctantly pulls back before it can get too heated, but threads his fingers into Gil's hair, keeping him from pulling away, resting their foreheads together.

"Come on, sweetheart," Gil whispers. He leans in for one last peck before he leads Malcolm from the nursery, closing the door behind them to let their girl get the sleep she needs to continue to grow. With their fingers tangled together, Gil ushers him to their bedroom across the hall and closes that door behind them as well.

Malcolm releases his hand to flip on the baby monitor, but no sooner has he set it back on the nightstand than Gil is walking up to him, cradling his face between his hands once again.

"Bright. You are amazing and beautiful and I am in awe of everything you've done and everything you are. And if you'll let me, I'd like to show you just how much I love every single inch of you." Gil says earnestly, a spark of hope in his eyes that sets butterflies loose in Malcolm's stomach. "Can I?"

Malcolm wants to say yes. He wants to have the carefree love life he used to have with his husband, back when they would make love, stripped down and unashamed, in whatever room they happened to be in when the mood hit. But then he thinks about Gil undressing him and seeing him. Really _seeing_ him...

His chest pulls tight, the anxiety clawing at his heart, his lungs.

"I don't know. Gil, I don't know if I can," Malcolm says, forcing his breaths to come out a little slower, using the calming techniques that Gabrielle taught him all those years ago and hating himself for needing to use them _now_ , in the safety of his bedroom, with a husband he adores.

"Sweetheart, the choice is yours. The choice is _always_ yours," Gil assures him in quiet tones that help to ease some of the weight from his chest. "And I'll love you no matter what you decide."

It's the kiss that sways him. Gil's lips press against his, enquiring at first, moving slowly until Malcolm sinks into it. Only then does it turn passionate, consuming, everything Malcolm didn't even know he'd been craving the last few months. Everything Malcolm thinks that, just maybe, he's been needing.

"Yes," Malcolm sighs into Gil's mouth, smiling as he feels Gil's lips tug up at the corners.

Gil pulls back just enough to look Malcolm in the eye. "If you need me to slow down or stop, just say the word, yeah? No games, no safewords. You say stop, we stop."

"I love you. You know that, right?" Malcolm asks, suddenly needing to make sure Gil knows that _this_ , at least, has never changed. That all of Malcolm's insecurities and difficulties lately haven't changed that one fundamental part of him.

"I know, kid. I love you, too."

Gil's fingers trail down Malcolm's arms, giving his hands a quick squeeze before coming to a stop at the hem of his pullover. It's one of the sweaters he bought near the beginning of his second trimester and it sits awkwardly on him now, but it's soft and hides his body, so he still wears it quite regularly.

His body tenses as Gil begins tugging it up, taking hold of the t-shirt he's wearing beneath it as well. But Gil is slow and gentle and peppers his face with kisses as he lifts the fabric up and over Malcolm's head. And those kisses don't stop as the clothes are tossed on the chair in the corner of the room.

They just move lower.

Soft moans spill from Malcolm's lips as Gil laps at his skin, dragging his lips along Malcolm's throat, pausing to suck and nip at the pulse point. The blood pools beneath the surface of Malcolm's pale skin, and he'd swear he can actually _feel_ the bruise forming.

From the very beginning of their relationship, Gil has enjoyed marking Malcolm — claiming him — almost as much as Malcolm enjoys being claimed. And as Gil draws up a mark that's sure to last for days, Malcolm somehow feels like he's being completed, made whole, as Gil claims him again after all these months.

Hot kisses and hotter puffs of breath trail across his chest as Gil works his way down, skirting his nipples as he moves lower and lower, sinking to one knee in front of Malcolm. The kisses turn softer, reverent, as Gil reaches his belly, and Malcolm's muscles pull taut as Gil's focus is pulled to the area he's most self-conscious about.

"Gorgeous," Gil whispers. His whiskers tickle Malcolm's skin and make him twitch beneath his ministrations, but Gil refuses to let go, sliding his hands to Malcolm's hips and holding lightly as he explores Malcolm's body one kiss, one lick, one nip at a time. "So fucking perfect."

The grip is light enough that Malcolm could break it easily just by taking a step back, but despite his discomfort, he doesn't want this to end. He worries that walking away now will make it impossible to move forward, to get past this _thing_ that's been holding him back. And he wants this. Wants Gil.

So as Gil slides his hands from Malcolm's waistband to his button, Malcolm slips his fingers into Gil's hair, carding through the thick strands and focusing on the silky glide between his fingers as Gil pops his button and unzips his pants. He can't force himself to watch as Gil bares the rest of his abdomen, choosing to close his eyes as Gil gently pulls down both his pants and his boxer briefs, stepping out of them and his socks at Gil's prompting. And suddenly he's naked in the middle of their bedroom, while the sun filters in through their sheer window coverings, providing privacy but none of the darkness to which he's become so accustomed. 

"Gil," Malcolm breathes out, his eyes still shut tight against the world, like if he can't see what's happening then maybe Gil doesn't either. He feels painfully exposed.

"It's just me, sweetheart. Just us. You and me, like always." Gil's words brush over the skin just above his half-hard cock, the rush of air and the sentiment combining to convince him to open his eyes and look down.

And Gil is a sight. His cheek is nestled against Malcolm's cock as he works his lips along the top of Malcolm's pubic bone. When he sees Malcolm watching, he moves up his belly, pausing to swirl his tongue in his belly button before he travels unhurriedly over to Malcolm's left hip, and then his right, with open mouthed kisses that leave Malcolm's skin damp and tingling as the air wisps over it.

Arousal floods his veins and pools low in his belly as he watches Gil work, sending his blood rushing south until he's full and hard. Only then does Gil pay any mind to his cock, licking along it in the same way he did Malcolm's chest and belly. With a pointed tongue, he dips into the slit of Malcolm's cock, lapping up the precum that starts to bead up as Malcolm watches his husband worship his body.

A chaste peck to the tip and then Gil is moving back in, licking his way to Malcolm's thighs and showering them with the same affection he's shown every other inch of him.

Looking down at Gil as he tongues the crease of his thigh, Malcolm realizes that the stretch marks which paint his skin don't matter even a little to Gil. And as Gil's hands move to cup and knead at Malcolm's ass cheeks, he feels a little of his trepidation begin to slough away, leaving him with a sense of renewal, feeling better than he has in months. 

After a moment, Gil performs double duty, sucking the right side of Malcolm's sack into his mouth as he reaches into the bedside table and feels around for the lube. Always a multi-tasker, he switches to Malcolm's left ball as he uncaps the lid and drizzles some of the lube onto his fingers, spreading it with his thumb until his fingers glisten in the sunlight. With a tiny gasp, Malcolm's breathing suddenly picks up pace as Gil pulls back, tugging his balls with him as he goes, until they pop from his mouth.

"Gonna finger you open. Get you ready to take me," Gil says, looking up at Malcolm with pupils blown so wide that Malcolm has no doubt how much Gil is enjoying this. "That okay?"

In lieu of an answer, Malcolm smiles shyly and widens his stance, giving Gil ample room to work a hand between his cheeks, which he does with a grin and a quiet moan that reminds Malcolm just how much Gil enjoys fingering his ass and feeling him from the inside. The light press of Gil's middle finger against his furled muscle has Malcolm's legs shaking, his body giving into the desire he's been denying himself for so long. 

Gil uses his free hand to encourage Malcolm to grip his shoulders for support, waiting until Malcolm is holding tight before he wraps his lips around Malcolm's cock and pushes a finger inside of him, all at the same time.

And Malcolm sees stars. 

He claws at Gil's sweater, balling up the fabric in a crushing grip as Gil swallows him down and slowly starts to pump his finger in and out of Malcolm's body. He's so keyed up at this point that he's sure he's not going to last, especially with the dual stimulation Gil is providing, hitting all of Malcolm's sweet spots with an astuteness borne of familiarity.

Gil bobs on his cock a handful of times before Malcolm pulls him off with a light tug to the back of his hair. At the first small tug, Gil pulls his mouth away immediately and stills the finger that's been steadily tapping away on his prostate. 

"Kid?" Gil asks, his expression a combination of concern and love.

Malcolm smiles down at him, still feeling terribly self conscious, but the pleasure is outweighing it enough that he doesn't cringe as he catches sight of his belly while gazing down at Gil. "I'm good," Malcolm assures him, panting and blushing. "Just close."

"That's kind of the point, sweetheart," Gil grins, mouthing lightly at the tip of his cock, though his finger remains unmoving inside of Malcolm's tight channel.

A breathy chuckle slips from Malcolm's lips, and it feels so damn good to laugh again. "Not like this. I want to come with you inside of me."

Gil wiggles his finger, brushing lightly over Malcolm's sweet spot, his grin stretching even wider as he points out, "I'm already inside of you."

The playful, carefree ease of their encounter acts as a sort of feedback loop, each man's joy feeding the other and bringing them both to new heights. It's intoxicating.

Malcolm moans as his eyes flutter shut, the gentle touch sparking through his entire body, bursting from his core all the way out to his extremities as it drives the air from his lungs. "Fuck," Malcolm groans when he regains his breath, which takes a little longer then it should due to Gil's kitten licks along the length of his cock. "Not what I meant, and you know it."

Warm air curls around his length as Gil chuckles at his response, but even as he's laughing, he's moving back up Malcolm's body, mouthing along his belly as he adds a second finger and begins to stretch Malcolm open. It's clear that he's avoiding Malcolm's prostate now, focusing his attention on scissoring his fingers and preparing the muscle to accept something far, far thicker than Gil's fingers.

"Just so you know," Gil says into his skin, drawing Malcolm's attention away from the third finger that's being pressed inside of him. Malcolm can't look down at Gil, not while he's lavishing attention on his sagging belly, so he tosses his head back and loses himself to the sensations swimming through his body instead. "I'd be more than happy to make you come over and over again. You could come in my mouth now, and then again on my cock."

Malcolm thinks he might just end up popping off from the words alone.

He holds his breath and bears down on Gil's fingers, an attempt to halt their movement for just a moment, just until he can get himself under control. With his orgasm successfully delayed, he keeps his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he speaks to the ceiling in short, huffing breaths. "You're overestimating either my refractory period or how long Grace will sleep. Maybe both."

Gil's laughter is bright and beautiful and fills Malcolm with a flourishing warmth. 

"I'd still be willing to give it a shot," Gil says, giving his fingers a slight twist. "But I think you might be ready to take me now anyways. What do you think?"

"God, yes," Malcolm sighs. He's so, so ready.

Gil pulls his fingers out and gives one last kiss to Malcolm's stomach before pushing to his feet. Even with Malcolm attempting to _'help'_ , it only takes a moment before Gil is stripped down, gloriously naked in front of Malcolm. 

And he's perfect. Miles of warm, tawny skin stretched taut over still-defined muscles, despite the inevitable softening around his midsection. He's far and above the sexiest man Malcolm's been with, but seeing him like this right now, when he's already struggling with his body image, just makes Malcolm even more self conscious than before. He doesn't mean to compare their bodies, but it's hard not to when Gil looks like _that_. 

Malcolm's arms cross over his belly, an unconscious movement that he isn't even aware of until Gil reaches out and takes hold of his hands, cautiously pulling them away from his body. Disappointed in himself for losing that air of playfulness, Malcolm chews on his lip and looks away, but Gil merely tugs him towards the edge of the room, next to the closet.

Malcolm actually looks up at that, having expected Gil to lead him to the bed. Instead of answering, Gil simply spins Malcolm around so his back is pressed to Gil's front, and Malcolm finds himself face to face with their reflections in the full length mirror. Gil's face hovers above Malcolm's left shoulder as he wraps one arm around Malcolm, settling lightly just above his collarbone.

"Gil—" Malcolm says, taking an instinctive step back only to be stopped by Gil's body behind him.

"Kid, just hear me out," Gil says before Malcolm can say anything else. Malcolm freezes in place but keeps his eyes closed, refusing to look at himself in the mirror as Gil whispers in his ear. He does, however, give him a chance to speak his piece. "I love you, Malcolm. And you are the most beautiful man I've ever met, inside and out."

Gil's free hand wraps around Malcolm's waist and settles effortlessly on his belly, the warmth of Gil's palm sinking into Malcolm's skin and then so much deeper. He twitches lightly at the contact and Gil's grip becomes impossibly lighter, reminding him that he's free to leave whenever he wants, that, while Gil is enfolding him in toned arms and unconditional love, that Malcolm is anything but trapped.

When Malcolm makes no move to break Gil's grip, Gil tugs him even closer to his body, his erection pressing into Malcolm's tailbone, though Malcolm gets the impression that it's the last thing on Gil's mind right now. He chances a peek into the mirror, studiously keeping his eyes from his own body, focusing on Gil's face where it rests on his shoulder.

And Gil just seems so damn happy to be holding Malcolm once again.

Malcolm relaxes into the embrace, just a little, barely even perceptible, but the smile that lights up Gil's face might as well be a flashing neon sign announcing that Gil felt it, nonetheless.

As he watches his husband, watches Gil's gaze drift over his body in the mirror with nothing but love and appreciation, he finally begins to understand that Gil loves Malcolm's body solely because it is _Malcolm's_ body. That he's going to have that same look in his eyes no matter what shape or size Malcolm's body takes.

And somehow, that seems to help.

"This body made our daughter," Gil says, the hand on Malcolm's stomach lightly brushing back and forth as he meets Malcolm's eye in the mirror. "I don't know if it's possible for me to love your body any more than I do right now, kid. You're perfect. Just like this, Malcolm. You're perfect."

Malcolm knows his insecurities aren't going to just up and vanish overnight, but seeing himself through Gil's eyes, hearing that Gil still loves his body, it's certainly a step in the right direction. He turns his head, to capture his husband's lips in a grateful kiss, but the movement also shifts Malcolm's body a little, providing an unexpected friction against Gil's cock. The moan that slips past Gil's lips and into Malcolm's mouth is like a hit of dopamine and suddenly Malcolm wants more. Wants to use his body to make Gil feel good.

To make them _both_ feel good.

He wiggles his ass back against Gil as their tongues continue their familiar dance, grinning at the reaction it provokes, then dropping his jaw in a silent sigh as Gil's hand slides down his belly to wrap around his cock.

"Gil," Malcolm huffs, releasing his lips and dropping his head back against Gil's shoulder as Gil works him at a slow and steady pace.

"What do you want, Bright?"

"You. Always you."

Gil's lips tease at his throat as he says, "I'm always yours, sweetheart."

Malcolm continues to grind back against Gil until they're both hard and leaking and Malcolm wants nothing more than to be filled by his husband, in every sense of the word.

"Please," Malcolm says, meeting Gil's eyes in the mirror in front of them.

"Lean forward. Hold the mirror." Lust drops the pitch of Gil's voice lower than usual, making his already seductive voice downright erotic. Arousal is written in every line on his face and Malcolm realizes just how much he's missed seeing Gil like this. Turned on. Lost in his desire. 

It's sexy as hell.

Malcolm reaches out and grabs hold of either side of the mirror. The position leaves him tilted slightly at the waist, just enough that he can lay his forearms flat on the frame next to his head. It also leaves his ass jutting out to Gil, which draws something that sounds a lot like a growl from his husband at the sight. 

"Gorgeous. Stay just like that for me," Gil asks, disappearing for half a second before he's back with the bottle of lube, drizzling it on his cock where it's standing at full attention in front of him. A second longer and the bottle is tossed on the ground as Gil lines himself up with Malcolm's entrance.

Malcolm knows just how much Gil loves to watch his cock sink into Malcolm's body, but right now, as he pushes through the snug ring of muscle, Gil's eyes are locked on Malcolm's reflection in the mirror, gauging his reaction as he slowly presses deep inside of him, one glorious inch at a time.

Gil pauses once he's fully seated, giving Malcolm a moment to adjust to the sudden fullness inside of him, the quiet, panting breaths of both men floating through the room.

"Fuck, kid," Gil groans, quite clearly holding himself back as his hands tighten on Malcolm's hips, fingers pulsing on Malcolm's skin. "You're so tight."

Malcolm keeps his eyes locked on Gil as he begins to roll his hips, grinding against Gil's body. He bites down on his lip to stifle the moan that bubbles up as Gil hits the sweet spot inside of him, but Gil's obviously having none of that.

"Let me hear you, sweetheart. Let me hear how good you feel."

As Malcolm releases his lip, relishing the sting as his teeth scrape over the delicate skin, Gil pulls back an inch or two and then slowly slides back in, drawing a breathy moan from Malcolm.

"That's it," Gil pants, still holding back.

"Move. Please," Malcolm begs.

As always, Gil gives Malcolm everything he wants, everything he needs.

With slow and steady thrusts, Gil begins to rock in and out of Malcolm, supporting him with a firm grip to keep him steady as they move together, as one. 

The feel of Gil filling him up is everything Malcolm could've asked for (everything he's been too afraid to ask for), making him whole by reaffirming their love in the most basic and primal sense. It's as if, like this, Malcolm can see himself through Gil's eyes, rather than through the tainted lens of his own perception.

And Gil loves what he sees. 

The truth of that is so damn obvious as his gaze travels down Malcolm's back to where they're joined together, only to shift to their reflection in the mirror, where Malcolm's body is on full display for them both to see in all its glory,

"Look at you." Gil eases his hand from Malcolm's hip and slides it over his belly, giving himself even more leverage to thrust into his body. "You're so damn beautiful, kid. Stunning."

Gil leans in, his pace slowing as he kisses at the crook of Malcolm's neck and nibbles at his earlobe, rocking rather than thrusting at this new angle. All the while, his hand strokes Malcolm's belly and his eyes lock on that very part of his body in the mirror.

Malcolm nearly looks away, but Gil nudges Malcolm's cheek with his own, encouraging him to keep his eyes trained on his body.

"Bright, I've never been more attracted to you than I am now." Gil's words turn choppy as his muscles start to contract, and Malcolm can feel that Gil is getting close. The way his hands tighten around Malcolm's body — despite his obvious intentions to remain gentle — is a clear sign that he's teetering on the brink of orgasm, holding on only to make sure Malcolm topples over with him.

Gil leans back again, this time tugging Malcolm along with him so his back is arched, hips and shoulders pressed against Gil's body while his stomach curves forward, on display. He thinks he should hate it, but he's so distracted by the way Gil's left arm curls over his shoulder and across his chest, the way his right hand keeps steady on his stomach, the way his cock brushes over his prostate again and again and again, that the sight of his body being exhibited like that doesn't bother him nearly as much as he'd expected.

"I love your body," Gil grunts, forcing out the words as he pumps his hips, losing the ability to form full sentences as he struggles to keep from reaching his climax just yet. "Love what it does. How it looks. Love you. Love you. Love you."

Orgasm takes Malcolm by surprise, shooting his load all over the mirror in streaks of milky white. The rush has him clenching hard around Gil which pushes his husband over the edge right along with him, filling Malcolm with his seed as they ride out their shared bliss.

Malcolm hasn't come that hard in nearly half a year.

The loving hold around his body stays constant as they both come down, frantic breaths evening out with heaving chests and the slow crawl of the clock. Gil's lips forge a trail of lazy kisses along whatever patches of skin he can reach without moving them, and Malcolm is hard pressed to tear his gaze away from their reflections, mesmerised by the way Gil so effortlessly expresses his love for him.

As if he feels the weight of Malcolm's gaze on him, Gil looks up, unerringly finding Malcolm's baby blues and smiling with so much warmth that his eyes crinkle up around the edges.

Gil is absolutely breathtaking like this.

And surprisingly, Malcolm isn't comparing anymore. It's not as if his insecurities have fallen away completely, but it feels like he's finally reached the surface, no longer drowning in a sea of loathing when it comes to his body. Like he can finally breathe and maybe find his way back to shore. 

Eventually.

Gil didn't _fix_ him (and Malcolm knows Gil would argue that there's nothing to be fixed at all), but he's given him hope that, one day, Malcolm can find his way back to loving his body. 

And it's a beautiful feeling.

Before Malcolm can say anything — any of the confessions of love and apologies and thank yous floating around in his head — a wailing cry from their daughter cuts through the baby monitor, breaking the silence of the room. It's well past her feeding time and she's making sure they know it.

Gil chuckles and slips his softening cock from Malcolm's hole, tempering the sting with a peck to his temple. While Gil gives himself a quick wipe down and tosses on a pair of sweatpants, Malcolm remains standing in front of the mirror, really looking at the form that he's been trying to avoid for months.

He doesn't love it.

But he doesn't hate it, either.

And as Gil comes over with a pack of baby wipes and begins to clean the come that's dribbled from Malcolm's ass with tender strokes, then wipe down his spent cock, Malcolm realizes that he may have just turned a corner. For the first time in four months, there's a hint of light in the darkness that's been consuming his mind.

And he knows the exact source of that light.

He reaches down to wrap a hand around Gil's arm, tugging him to his feet so he can kiss him softly. "Thank you for being my beacon."

Gil tilts his head, not quite following the thread of Malcolm's ever-evolving thoughts, but his expression is soft and honest as he answers, regardless. "Always."

Always and forever. Malcolm's not sure how he ever forgot. 

He slips on a pair of sweatpants and Gil's faded NYPD t-shirt then links his fingers with Gil's, smiling at Gil's surprise when he leads them from the room. Malcolm's been practically living in baggy sweaters the last few months, and he knows it must come as a shock to see him in the thin fabric of a t-shirt.

Honestly, it feels a little strange. Revealing.

But all of a sudden, with Gil at his side, that doesn't seem like such a terrible thing anymore.


End file.
